A Touch of Trouble
by the.goal.is.greatness
Summary: Hands are the window to the man's soul. [Kirk x Spock] [hand!porn]


**Title:** A Touch of Trouble  
**Genre:** Romance / Humor  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Kirk x Spock  
**Spoilers:** N/A  
**Summary:** Hands are the windows to a man's soul.  
**Word Count:** 5,175  
**Warnings:** Is Sign-Language!porn a thing?

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Summary is from _The Art of Racing in the Rain_

**A/N:** I was thinking about learning sign language, and honestly, this is the first thing I thought of with all the hand waving.

* * *

"The planet is a standard M-class, oxygen levels in the atmosphere are slighter higher than Earth's norm, but nothing detrimental to humans." Spock recites the read-outs with mechanical precision, as the rest of the bridge crew watch the rotating planet on the view screen. It is blue as marbles, the land masses a mix of deep green and blood red. "Detecting several large concentrations of lifeforms, possibly cities, on the surface."

Jim lounges in the captain's chair insolently, only half listening to his First Officer. Once he knew the planet was safe to beam down to, he didn't much care for the nitty-gritty science details. That was what floated Spock's boat, not Jim's. "Can we open a hailing frequency, Lieutenant Uhura?"

She presses some buttons on her consul and begins to shake her head. "There's an answering signal from my outgoing message, but it appears as if their own return signal is jammed. I can't get any visual or audio from them."

"Hm…" He can see Spock watching him from the corner of his eye, knowing he's just waiting to contradict whatever he says. "Any reason to think they're hostile?"

"Well, no, but there's no reason to think they're fr-"

"That settles it then! Let's put together a landing party – "

"Captain, I insist I head the landing party with a team of security officers."

He can't help the eye roll the statement causes, and he stands languidly, stretching like a cat as he turns towards his XO. For a moment, he thinks Spock's eyes are locked on the sliver of skin between the bottom of his shirt and the hem of his pants – but no, he's looking down towards the view screen behind him. "And why is that, Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan fixes him with a flat stare. "We do not know for sure that the natives will be willing to welcome us onto their planet. If they are not, there is a 42.84% likelihood that you will exacerbate the situation, a 24.03% likelihood you will violate the Prime Directive, and a 78.76% likelihood you will wind up in Sick Bay. Based on these projected outcomes it is only logical that –"

Jim is already holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright, alright. You've convinced me, Mr. Spock." He grins. "But if everything looks good in a few hours, I'm coming down after you to have some fun."

Spock frowns. But Jim has already sprawled back into his chair, eyes fixed on the planet below them, the swirl of colors from the vid screen reflected in his eyes like a brilliant star.

* * *

Two hours later, a hail comes through from Spock's communicator. "Spock, to Lieutenant Uhura."

Uhura glances behind her at the Captain, who is watching her avidly, eyes shrewd and intelligent, waiting. "Uhura here."

"We require your assistance. The Universal Translators are non-functional and we have having trouble communicating with the natives."

She quirks her brow at Jim. He shrugs. "Understood, Commander. I'm beam down directly."

"So let's get going!"

She turns, half-standing, to see Jim already out of his seat, rubbing his hands together gleefully, a ball of boundless excitement. She blanches. "Captain, no – "

His grin broadens. "Captain, yes."

* * *

When Spock sees Jim beam into place beside Nyota he holds back a grimace. He was not exaggerating the figures from earlier. The Captain has the remarkable tendency to injure himself even in the most basic of situations, losing his shirt in many of them, and Spock has to wonder if they're intentional or not. It seems unreasonable that a man who was intelligent enough to rewrite Spock's own computer program would be stupid enough to get dragged into some of the predicaments he always seemed to find himself in. Spock had no wish to drag him out of another one.

Nor did he wish to see if he managed to relieve himself of his shirt in front of the natives. Again.

"Captain." When Jim grins at him, boyish and cheerful, Spock knows the Captain has detected the trace of annoyance in his voice and that irritates him even further. "We did not require your presence."

"Ah, but where's the fun in staying on the ship?" He claps Spock on the shoulder, not noticing when he stiffens at the contact. All the layers of clothing in the world can't keep Jim's blindingly, bright, brilliant mind from touching his. His shields slam down into place. "So what seems to be the problem?"

Uhura, too, is looking around avidly, peering over their shoulders to the group of people behind them. The native people are humanoid, their skin tinted a dusky red, their eyes have a double lid – like a reptile or an amphibian. The security team is talking to them loudly and slowly, as if they're stupid, but they are being remarkably quiet.

"They have not spoken. It is possible they can hear us, but are not responding to our questioning, so we cannot ascertain if the translators are working." Abruptly, one of the native began to gesture slowly and deliberately at Powell, one of the redshirts. Spock frowns at the flamboyant movements, at the way they wave their fingers and wrists. Powell looked confused. "They seem to be attempting to convey a point, but I cannot – "

Spock breaks off then Jim marches past him, walking up to the group. Glancing at Uhura, they both follow him swiftly, unsure what his plan is. He could very easily be planning on shaking the natives until one of them understands him. What happens is something he never could have expected.

Jim pauses in front of the man gesturing to Powell, and snaps his fingers twice in rapid succession. When the native turns to him, Jim grins. And then slowly, deliberately, waves his hand in a seemingly very precise manner. The group of aliens all shuffle excitedly, but their leader makes a gesture at them and they still. But they are watching Jim with bright and keen interest, in a way that makes Spock narrow his eyes and shift his feet, only stilling when Uhura glances at him, eyebrow arched in question. A quick series of hand gestures from the leader: one finger toggled in front of the face, pointing towards Jim.

Spock glances back at his captain, expecting the confusion that has been prevalent in the rest of the landing party, but has to force his mouth not to drop open when Jim starts responding in the same gestures. Besides several moments when Jim waves his hands to slow the motions of the native, making him repeat a set of motions several times, the flow is quick and smooth. The remainder of the leader's group crowd around the captain, watching the exchange, smiling and nodding.

Spock is rigid. He is unsure what Jim knows about Vulcans, but hands are a very personal thing for them. As touch telepaths, their hands are basically things to be used in courtship rituals. They are not free with their touch, with their motions, even among humans. It is heavily ingrained in them from the time they are children not to flaunt their delicate wrists, their long palms, their slender fingers, their sensitive fingertips. He is used to the Captain being freer with his touch – clapping shoulders, hugs, even several sudden handshakes that make his breath stutter and freeze. But this –

The motions of Jim's hands pull back his gold command shirt, and his wrists swirl and dip as he twists and turns them. It is a maddening display that makes Spock want to still the movements by wrapping his own hands around those strong wrists until he can feel the tendons under his palms. When those fingers make motions across his face and mouth, down the length of his body, Spock feels his eyes drawn to those parts of him. He does not know what the gestures mean, to him they are merely invitations, someone displaying their assets for all to see. His bright eyes, his full lips, his lean torso. His breath comes shorter the faster the movements become – it is like watching an erotic dance, he can't look away. Those long fingers flutter in the air and Spock can't help but imagine what they might feel like in his mouth or inside him or pressed against his own burning fingertips. His hands clench into fists at the sudden tingling in his finger pads.

When the natives crowd closer and closer, his eyes narrow. The women are bold, bright-eyed. They reach out to touch Jim on the arm, to draw his attention to them, to speak with him in a flurry of sinful hand motions. Spock feels a rumbling growl burning its way up his throat.

"Spock?" Uhura's tentative voice dissipates the red haze that had been slowly creeping over his vision. "Are you alright?"

He forces his voice to be steady and monotone. "I am quite alright, Lieutenant." He looks at her, willing his face to remain impassive. "Shall we hail Doctor McCoy and let him know the Captain is in no immediate danger? The likelihood that he is worried is precisely – "

She is laughing over him. "Alright, alright – I'll let McCoy know Kirk is alright – why don't you just go make sure he doesn't lose his shirt?"

The very thought makes him walk stiffly and quickly over to the group of native and Enterprise crew. The landing party is watching the flurry of movements, following them back and forth from Captain to alien like they are watching an Earth-style tennis match. They are murmuring softly to each other, and Spock's keen hearing picks up that they are trying to figure out what the motions mean. The groupings of red-tinted natives are following the exchange more avidly – clearly understanding everything. The women – and one of the men – are looking side-eyed at the Captain, assessing him in a manner that Spock finds most inappropriate. He clears his throat.

Jim immediately turns, eyes seeking his out, and breaks into a wide smile, brilliant as the sun, eyes alight with happiness. "Spock!" Spock feels his stomach churning with a nauseating mixture of pleasure and terror and he swallows it down. "Hey, this is – well I'm not really sure there's a way to pronounce it with words – I guess it means He-Who-Knows-the-Way?" The last work lilts up on a question and he glances back at the leader. When the man nods, Jim turns his smiling face back to Spock. "Their names are all like that. Very American Indian." He begins pointing them out. "She's Eyes-Like-Stars. This big guy is The-Mountain-that-Moves. This lovely lady is simply Beauty."

The woman he addresses is indeed beautiful – her eyes feline, her skin smooth as glass, her lips full. She smiles at Jim, eyes full of promises, hands making a few short motions that make the Captain laugh and nod. When her coy eyes turn from Jim to glance at Spock, he makes the only non-verbal motion he can think of to dissuade her. He shakes his head very firmly from side to side. Her eyes widen, but Spock has already turned away from her, lightly touching the Captain's elbow to bring his attention back to himself.

"Oh, yeah, so anyway Spock – do you mind if I commandeer control of your landing party?" When Spock blinks once, slowly, he continues. "I mean, clearly I'm the only one who can communicate with the – well the movement they use sort of means the Silent Ones? – unless Uhura could follow?" He directs that question over Spock's shoulder.

"No, Captain, I didn't, but I'd love to learn." She walks up quietly, slipping her communicator away. Her eyes are whirling with anticipation.

Jim nods. "Right, well, in that case, I'd like to stay and speak," he laughs a little, "to them about Starfleet and all that jazz and," his eyes slant over, flicking over Beauty once, "get to know them a little. What do you think, Spock?"

What does he think? What does he _think_? He thinks his blood is roaring in his ears over the way Jim's eyes slid down that woman's body, as personal as any touch. He thinks her own eyes are too knowing, too coquettish, too _sure_. He thinks Jim will be losing his shirt and he doesn't want to think about how. But then he thinks of slim wrists with calloused palms and blunt nails twining around that woman's and he thinks of hand fluttering in a dance where he cannot meet the steps but someone else can and then he doesn't think at all. He sees red.

He does not hear them when Jim and Nyota call out to him as he spins on his heel and storms away. He does not see their faces – Jim's bewildered, Nyota's sad – as he pulls out his communicator to beam up. He does not look back as his atoms fall apart and he returns to his ship.

* * *

Hours later he is still seething. He had retreated to his lab, trying to clear his mind. But all he has accomplished is scaring every single person out of the room, three of them in tears. He is sure some of them are requesting transfers even as he sits here, but he does not care. He cannot seem to calm down – even the monotonous task of recording data cannot settle his turbulent mind. All he can think about is –

"Care to tell me why I've run across a few blue-clad science officers running for their quarters in hysterics?"

That Southern drawl is not a welcome sound. "No. Now I will request that you vacate this labs, Doctor, what I am doing here does not concern you."

He knows McCoy doesn't heed his advice when Spock hears a chair scrape loudly across the floor as the doctor pulls it closer. Spock cringes at the sound. "Not my concern? Well I'll have you know that someone distressing the crew is absolutely the CMO's concern – especially if that person turns out to be a pointy-eared devil." Spock raises imperceptibly narrowed eyes. "Now what's got your panties in a bunch?"

When Spock opens his mouth, at first he is going to ask about the colloquialism, but then he decides he does not wish to be drawn into further conversation. "There is nothing amiss, doctor."

"Don't lie to me, Spock, or I'll declare you unfit for duty. Now you came back like a tornado from the landing party and since Jim stayed down there, I'd bet my bottom dollar it was because of something he did." There is a long, poignant pause. "Or _someone_ he did." When Spock's head snaps up, McCoy is smiling a slow, lazy smile. "Ah, I knew there was something there."

Spock looks away. "You are mistaken, doctor."

"I ain't blind, Commander – though most of the crew is. Jim, too." He stretches languidly in his chair, at ease. "So what did the kid do this time? Can't be too bad if you didn't drag him up here with you."

Spock is most definitely _not_ pouting. "I could not." Though he is not looking at him, Spock can feel McCoy's questioning stare. "He was the only one who could communicate with the natives."

"Uhura – "

"Is only trained in spoken languages."

"Well what the hell other kind of language is there?"

Spock makes a vague sweeping motion with his arm, then drops the limb back into his lap, appalled at his lack of decorum. "They do not speak, they use movements to convey their thoughts. The Captains seemed well-versed."

"Oh." It is such a strange response that Spock looks around. McCoy is staring intently at one of the beakers on the lab table, but his eyes are far away. "Spock – what do you know of Jim's family?"

Spock blinks, not following. "George Kirk's exploits are common classroom knowledge in the Academy."

McCoy sighs. "Listen, I'm going to tell you something, but if you tell Jim I told you, I will 100% both deny it and have you transferred off this ship for any number of medical reasons I may or may not make up." There's a long pause again. "Jim was on Tarsus IV."

Spock's eyes widen and he feels his stomach clench, his breath stutter. "That is not – "

"In any of his files, yes, I know. Jim… _removed_… that part of his file. He didn't want people to ask about it, didn't want to be forced to remember. He was staying there with his aunt when he was young." The way McCoy says 'aunt' makes Spock think there is something he is not saying, something about the Captain's mother, but he doesn't interrupt. "I only found out about it because he had an absolute break down in a class one time and they called me as his doctor… Jim didn't want to talk to strangers about it, so I became his therapist, too. The shit that kid went through… it's enough to curl your toes. But one day I mentioned how everything has a silver lining."

"I might not have known about the Captain's history on Tarsus IV, but I've read the case studies, doctor. I find it hard to believe that there is any so called silver lining in a situation like that."

McCoy shrugged. "You just have to look hard. After all, since the kids had to be so quiet and Jim loves to read – he managed to steal a book about sign language from the Tarsus Hall of Records." At Spock's blank look, he elaborates. "Tarsus IV is where Jimmy learned to do all that fancy hand-waving."

The image flickers across his mind of wrists and fingers. It's immediately followed by an image of a doe-eyed native staring hungrily at the Captain.

McCoy chuckles, as if he can see the thoughts behind Spock's eyes. "I'm not as versed in hobgoblin biology as M'Benga, but even I can guess what all that fancy hand dancin' is doing to you, you love-struck fool." Spock opens his mouth to deny, but McCoy speaks right over him. "No, no, no, don't you go making your excuses to me. You're on medical leave, doctor's orders." He stands, still speaking. "Now don't make me have security escort you back to your quarters."

Spock can't even attempt to refute the order, McCoy is already gone.

* * *

It is minutes, hours later, he does not know, when the doors to his quarters whoosh open. He has been meditating since he left the labs, he doesn't need McCoy to come barging into his room with his medical override code to "check up on him." He doesn't open his eyes, merely snarls, "I do not wish to see you."

"Yeah, you made that fact pretty fucking clear."

His eyes snap open. _Jim,_ his mind supplies. "Captain." He does not stand, but remains seating cross-legged on the floor, staring at Jim where he leans against the wall, staring at him. He stares for so long that Spock fights the urge to fidget. It is uncomfortable, Jim is never this quiet. And his eyes are so blue and intense. The urge to fidget increases.

"Why'd you leave?" He doesn't have a response, but Jim doesn't seem to need one, since he continues without waiting for an answer. "You were clearly stumped with their language, I would have thought you'd want to be all scientific and learn all you could. Uhura sure did."

"I –" He still does not know what to say. So he lies. "I had something in the labs that required my attention." His eyes slid away from Jim's even as he says it.

"Bullshit." Eyes snap back to the Captain when he hears him push off the wall. "You were _pissed_ when you left. So what is it, Spock? Wanted all the glory from First Contact for yourself? Trying to get first pick of the alien babes?"

He fails to stop his eyes from widening. "No – "

"Trying to get some time away from me? Your Captain who always fucks up all the landing parties?"

"No, Jim, I – "

He does not even notice that Spock has used his name as the tirade continues. "Or can you just not stand me being better than you at one fucking thing? I – "

"It's your hands!"

Jim stop mid-sentence, mouth going slack and eyes going wide in surprise. "My… what?"

Spock, for his part, is dismayed at his outburst. He was not supposed to say anything. He should have just let the Captain yell, he would have been mad about it for a few weeks, and then he would have forgotten about it. But he was still so keyed up from the landing party, from watching those motions, from spending the last few hours trying to forget but only succeeding in thinking about Jim and that native pressed together skin-to-skin, and, and, and

"It's your hands," he repeated, quieter, resigned, closing his eyes against the inevitable. Jim laughing at him, or storming out. He wasn't an idiot. He _knew_ about Vulcans and their hands, he took the biology classes at the Academy, but he forgot himself with Spock. He used to find it rude, then, when the first fluttering of emotion towards his Captain began to surface, he was hopeful. But then he realized that that's how Jim was with all of his friends, the fact that Spock was a Vulcan didn't make him treat his XO any differently, so he just tried to ignore it.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" When he feels someone settle in front of him, his eyes spring open. Jim is settled on his knees before him, eyes bright and wide and amused. "You big idiot."

He is going to say something about the insult, but can't. "What?"

"Spock, do you have any idea how much of the stupid shit I do is just to get your attention?" Spock is blinking rapidly, mind whirling. "And you're telling me all I had to do to get under your collar was twirl my hands a little bit." As he says this, he makes one of those flowing, twisting wrist motions to accentuate his point, and Spock is so startled by the suddenness of it, he groans raggedly. When Jim blinks, hand still outstretched, Spock blushes green to the tips of his ears. A slow, seductive smile, full of promises slides across Jim's face. "Well, well, well…"

The next movement is deliberate. He strokes his fingertips down the center of his throat, and then takes that same hand and makes several slow circles in front of his mouth. The entire time he is staring at Spock intently, pupils beginning to go wide and dark.

He doesn't remember thinking to lean forward, but he is suddenly much closer to Jim than he was before, reaching out for that hand with his own. At the first touch of Jim's hand on his, he is suddenly rock hard under his robe, because he can _feel_ the desire thrumming through Jim, underneath his skin, as heady and tingling as an electric current. He feels it in his fingertips like lightning and he moans at the feeling.

Jim yanks his hand away and Spock is bereft for the contact for two seconds, before it is Jim's turn to lean forward, crowding into Spock's space so harshly that he's pushed backwards to splay on the floor. He reaches up to grab Jim's shoulders but Jim takes one of Spock's hands in each of his and pins them above his head. Spock throws his head back, slamming it against the floor at the sensitive, but he barely feels it.

Their hands are pressed together, palm to pale, fingers perfectly aligned. Against where their fingertips touch, Spock can feel Jim's mind, bright and open and _there_ and his fingers _hurt_ with the sudden want to press them into Jim's meld points. Jim must feel his hands begin to rise, because her pushes against the harshly, the motion making Spock's hips arch off the ground with a cry.

Jim groans against the curve of his throat. "Jesus Christ, Spock."

He wants to be offended, annoyed even, but mostly he just doesn't want Jim to stop, wants more, wants his to keep going. "_Jim_." His fingers strain against Jim's, his hips mirror the motion for one long breath, before he slowly, deliberately lets his legs fall open.

When Jim slides into the swell of his hips, they both hiss out a breath. Jim's fingers clench spasmodically against his and it makes Spock buck upwards. Jim fucking _sinks_ into him at that, hips pressing down harshly. There are only thin Starfleet pants and a robe between them, but it is too much. But it is also too much to stop. Jim is rocking against him, insistent and needy, Spock's hips ache with how wide he's holding them, but it is not enough, he wants them wider, wants Jim closer, wants –

\- he wants that mind to brush against his. The thought is so erotic to the Vulcan he gives several convulsive jerks of his hips, fingers strained so tight they hurt because he wants to reach out and _touch_. Now that it is available to him he wants to touch. He wants to know if Jim's hair is as soft as if looks. He wants to trace the shell of curved ear. He wants to touch skin that is hidden beneath clothing, soft and vulnerable. He wants to feel Jim's fingers in his mouth. He wants – he wants Jim to kiss him.

"_Jim…_" he breathes it directly into the ear that so close to his face, still buried in his neck.

A groan. "God, Spock." Several panting breaths. "I hope you don't say everyone's name like that."

He blinks, narrows his eyes, then leans down as close as he can get to that ear. With a deliberate slow roll of his hips that makes Jim buck forward, Spock groans. _"Captain_."

There is a face suddenly above him, then Jim presses their mouth's together so harshly teeth clack together. His hands tighten on Spock's so painfully he can feel his tendons creaking. "Holy shit, Spock." Jim intersperses his kisses with frenzied words. "I've never… I can't…" Tongues twine together. "Fuck, just hearing you say that." He groans, pressing down. "I could come just from that."

What an interesting thought. Spock wasn't aware that he had a devious bone in his body, but he was beginning to think it might be an intriguing thing to research. His fingers twitch at the thought.

He rolls his hips in that slow, deliberate manner again, clenches his thighs. When Jim bucks into him, he moans. When Jim shifts his hands so that their fingers are interlocking, when his fingernails scrap against Spock's knuckles, he mewls. "Ah! Captain!" Another hard thrust. "_Please_." Spock doesn't know what makes him say that, but Jim loses it.

Suddenly one of Jim's hands releases his, but before he can reach out to that hair, those shoulders, Jim shift his grip, and both of his wrists are locked in one of his Captain's hands, and pressed into the floor. The other hand grasps his chin, forces his jaw wide and kisses him. It is messy and dirty and makes Spock feel that slow pressure roil in his abdomen. When Jim pulls his mouth away, Spock tries to follow, but just as suddenly there are fingers in his mouth. His sucks, eyes insistent on Jim's face. Jim's pupils are blown so wide there is no blue left, just dark pools of need. He pulls his fingers from Spock's mouth with a wet pop that makes them both groan.

"You wanna play, do you?" Spock's own eyes widen and Jim grins. "You like my hands, right?" Spock throws a glance at Jim's hand, held just over his face, fingers glistening with saliva. Would he – "Let's see how undone my little hands can make you?"

He opens his mouth – To apologize? To ask for more? – but it is nothing but a moan as Jim traces one delicate shell of Spock's ear with that wet finger. It starts a slow, steady path to everywhere within reach. Its tickles a line down his throat and shoulder. Then Jim is reaching into the robes, tracing down his collarbone. Then he circles slow paths around first one nipple then the other, until they are both as hard as stones. Only when Spock is panting, a moan on every exhale, does he pinch the hardened nubs. The brief flare of pain, after so long of slow, tortuous sensuality, makes Spock buck his hips off the ground. The feel of Jim's hard length so close to his own, makes him even more frenzied. He wants more, he wants to be closer, he wants relief, please, oh Jim, Jim, please, Captain, my Captain, mine…

Without his realizing, Jim trailed his hand back up to their clasped hands and, slowly, unsure, he reached out and lightly brushed their fingertips together.

It is all Spock needs.

The feeling that has been coiling and tightening in him suddenly unwinds as swiftly as a ball of yarn, and Spock goes blind with the pleasure of it. His hips jerk uncontrollably with his release. Finger pad to finger pad, he can just brush against Jim's mind, and reaches out lightly, for just a moment. "_Captain_." The title is a visceral groan at the brief touch of mind-to-mind.

"_Fuuuck_." Wonderingly, at the word, at the touch, Jim comes undone as well, untouched save where he had touched Spock himself, and for that smallest flutter of Spock at the back of his consciousness. He spasms against Spock, before slumping down, trembling, on top of him.

Spock doesn't care, he is too boneless from his own release to want to move. His eyes are closing. He knows they should move to the bed, that they will wake up sore and in pain, but he cannot begin to care. Jim's breathing starts to settle and picks up a slow and even rhythm that makes Spock know he is also falling asleep. They both had long days, and with this, they are too exhausted to fight the pull of slumber. And tomorrow there were more First Contact meetings -

"You will not go down to the planet any longer." Spock clamps his lips together. He had not meant to say that.

But Jim is laughing, unconcerned. "Of course, _Commander_." His title is purred out, and even tired, he feels an interested response in his robes at the thought. "These hands are all yours now."


End file.
